Indianapolis Journal, Indianapolis, Marion County, 25 August 1883 — Page 11

Moraine Glorie*. Tur heavenly hues surpass, O, tender flowers, The reyal “purple of the sea” that tells Os death. Sweet friends of childhood’s happy hours, A thousand memories cluster round your bells! When early morniug’s showers or gold were shed Upon the fresh, green, blossoming world, I’ve stood In rapture, worshiping. Your beauty fed My thirsting soul. Encircled by a wood Ids* hallowed ground, where once was life, love, home; There were you trained by mother’s loving hands. Ia fancy still I thro’ the old wood roam. Aad pause to rest me where the old home stands. I sue again yonr purple clusters lift Their radiant faces to the tnornlug light. 1 stand upon the porch; my pulse grows swift With rushing memories your forms invite! The days glide on—a cottage crowns a hill That eastward slopes down to a sparkling stream O’erhung with roses wild, where robins trill Their early songs of joy. O, sad, sweet dream! A mother with her first-born proudly stauds Beside the oot with tender vines e’ergrown; Holds up her baby girl with loving hands To sea you smiling in such beauty blown. Tbe baby leapt—your glory touched its soul! Ah! who may know the message seut to God Up thro’ your fragrant lips, where an cels troll Tbe sßgs of the redeemed! O, silent sod! O. worldless stars! my aching, breaking heart You heed not. O, ring low yonr purple bells, ©west flowers; there’s healing in your art That triumphs over death, and peace compels. —lira. J. ▼. H. Koous. Vain Waiting. A shipwrecked sailor, on a lonely isle. Climbed to a seat upon a barren peak. And there, with anxious eye and fading cheek, Pordays he watched tbe horizon, the while Hope's tides arose and fell within his breast. Sometimes he saw a email sail far away, Shine like a white dove’s wing against the sky, And then it slowly faded from his eye, And in rain watching passed each weary day. •‘A sail! a sail!” he cried one eve with bated breath, Alas! 'twae but tbe white gleam of the robe of death. —John Freelaud. Marco, Aug. 28. L.oTe*s Power. If I were blind, and thou shouldst enter E’er so softly in the room, I should know It, I should feel it, Something subtle would reveal it, Aud a glory round thee center That would lighten upthegloem. And my heart would surely guide me. With love's second-sight provide mo, One amid the crowd to find, If I were blind! If I were deaf, and thou hadat spoken Ere thy presence I had known, I should know it, I should feel it. Something subtls would reveal it, And tbe seal at once be broken By love's liquid undertone. Deaf to other, stranger voices, And tbe world’s discordant noises Whisper, wheresoe’er thou art, ’Twill reach my heart! If I were dead, and thou shouldst venture Near the coffin where 1 lay, I should know it. I should feel tt, Something subtle would reveal it, And no look of mildest censure Rest upon that face of clay, bhoulrtst thou kiss me, conscious flushes Os love’s fire through death’s cold ashes Would give hack the cheea its red. If I were dead! —Josephine Pollard, in September Csnturj Southern Camp-Meeting Song. I’m goin’ awav; I can't stay here. Death’s gwiue to rap at my door. By and by. For death’s gwine to rap at my door. By and by. O, somebody’s gwine to die, and I can’t stay here; I’m gwine. away for Death’s gwine to rap at my door, Oh! oh! oh! for Death’s gwine to rap at my door By and by. O, look at dat beautiful moon, We’re all gwine to reacn dat moon We’ll go by twoa aud twos, for J can’t ataj here; I’m gwine away, for Death’s gwine to rap at my door By and by. Dis whole hand’s Gwine to de promised land, and We’ll all rap at de door. By and by. O. O, I can’t stay here. I’m jist a goin’ I’m gwine by and by— I’m gwine to rap at de door. National Republican. An Erieuic Conceit. When Adam from bi sleep awoke A radiant creature met bis eyes Whose beauty on his vision broke Ah breaks the morn ’neath tropic skies. With wonder Adam stood transfixed— Another day had just begun— She crossed his vision just bet wixt The dawn aud rising of tbe sun. ** ’Tis morn,” said he, ’Mu human guise; Fair morn, niv homage pray receive." The vision blushed, cast down her eyes. And sain: “I am not morn, but Eve.” —Geo. Russell Jackson, in Cottage Hearth UNCLE RUFUS HATCH. Slow the Old Geutleioan Looks and How He Swears. flt. Paul Special. “Uncle Rufus” was the first man to jump pff the train when it pulled into the depot. Jle was greeted by a loud “How are you, Uncle Rufe!” from a score of voices in unison. A lively hand-shaking bee followed, and Rufus Hatch shed a few extra salt-drops pi perspiration of joy. He looks as hale and (hearty as when here last year. His grizzly pide whiskers have been shaved off, and his Bandy moustache holds undisputed sway ever his fine, open countenance, making im look younger by several years. He wore a white felt hat, gray suit of clothes, gray shirt and black necktie. [He carried a serpentine cane of flight yellow wood, and this gave him the apfearanceof a cross betweeu a New York dude nd a northwestern cattle owner. “Uncle Lufe,” was the first question asked, “how do *you feel? You are looking well.” “Yes, I eat well, walk well, talk well, sleep swell, perspire well, drink well water, and by (the holy Gould, I am well.” “Speaking of Gould, do you think he will *i)U9t up’ the Northern Pacific raifway?” “Don’t think it will be that bad. I have *ome confidence in the Northern Pacific. I bought 500 additional shares in that road yesterday.” “How does President Villard feel?” 4i Villard simply laughed. You know he has fine teeth. Well, he knows how to show them, and knows how to laugh last, which has always been considered the best way to Indulge in mirth.” An Indiana poet has written some verses n the opulence of his poverty. What worries most of us at the present time is the poverty of our opulence. It is too sad a thing to write verses about.—New York Com inertial. Woman and Her Diseases hi tbs title of a large ilium rateu treatise, by Dr. fL V. Pierce, Buffalo, N. Y., seut to any address [<>r three stramps. It teaches successful self treatment.

wanted—a daughter. Margaret Eytiuge in iiarper’s Weekly. “An actress, sir? Never!” said Mr. Philander Greentree in a voice that rnado the windows rattle in their frames. And “Never” echoed his meek little wife, but in so faint a tone that it didu t disturb in the least tbe fly that was sitting on one of the pretty white puffs on her dear old head. “And if you persist in being in love with the young woman, you must cease to be an inmate of my house,” shouted Mr. Greentree. “And if you marry her, by heavens! I’ll scratch you.” “Yes, we’ll be obliged to scratch you,” added the old lady as mildly as she had spoken before, looking at the same time as though it would be utterly impossible for her to scratch any one under any circumstances whatever. Not that they meant scratching in the common sense of the word; scratching the young man’s name from his uncle’s will was the punishment they threatened. “And I’ll never give you a penny,” thundered Uncle Philander. “Oh, William, think of that!—not even a penny,” said Aunt Tamasin. . “And I’ll adopt a girl—l will, by heavens!” the old man went on, growing more and more angry every minute. “No more ungrateful boys for me. And she’ll marry to please us, and her children shall be our grandchildren.” “My dear boy, consider,” entreated the old lady. “How dreadful, how very dreadful, for us to have strange grandchildren!” “Uncleand aunt —1 suppose I must call you father and mother no longer,” said the young man, slowly and firmly—“l am truly sorry to vex you, but I have plighted my faith to Miss Fieldbrook, and I cannot and will not break it. She is an actress, but as good and lovely a girl as ever trod the earth —sweeter and lovelier than any girl it has been my lot to meet. And if you would only allow me to bring her here—” “Bring her here!” repeated his nncle, stamping about the room in his rage. “Here, where your mother—l mean your aunt Tamasin—has lived in quiet, virgin—l mean quiet, holy—l mean quietness and jieace, sir, for nearly half a century? Hew dare you even think of such a thing, sir? An actress capering around these apartments! Good heavens!” “’Twouldn’t exactly Tight, William, you know.” said Aunt Tamasin. “I never was a caperer, and at my time of life I don’t think I couLd get used to one. I don’t indeed.” “Oh, you dear, funny old mother—auntie—” began Will, with a smile, but encountering his uncle’s wrathful eyes and frowning brow, he grew serious again, and said: “Well, if you positively refuse to receive Eva, I suppose we must part. I am very, very thankful to you for all you have done for me since I was left a fatherless and motherless boy; but give up the woman I love for a thoroughly unreasonable prejudice of yours I cannot and will not. And so good-by. Uncle, will you shake hands with me?” “No, I won’t,” replied Mr. Greentree, brusquely. “Aunt, will you let me kiss you?” “Os course I will, my dear boy,” said Mrs. Greentree. “And if you change your mind, come back to us directly. We start for Greentree Cottage in a few days, j t ou know, and I shall keep your room ready for you there all summer.” “No, don’t, auntie, dear,” kissing her not once, hut three or four times, “for I shall not change my mind, and perhaps being one ot the prettiest rooms in the house, my room may be chosen by your adopted daughter. And I hope from the bottom of my heart that she may spend as many happy hours there as I have. Good by. Good by, fath — uncle.” But Uncle Philander answered not by look nor word, and as the ball door closed after his nephew, lie exclaimed again: “An actress! By heavens! the boy’s gone mad, and I wash my bunds of him forever.” “Don’t say forever,” begged Aunt Tamasin. “Forever’s along time—a very long time. Philander. And, oh dear! how I shall miss him! Such a good child as ho lias always been ever since he came to us fifteen years ago! Better in some things even than you, Philander; for you know you always say bad words when I lose my spectacles, which he never did. but looked for them time and again with the patience of an angel.” And taking off said spectacles, she proceeded to lose them once more by laytfig them on the back of the sofa, whence they dropped to the floor behind it, where, with the dreadful “depravity of inanimate things,” they remained snugly hidden, while she wept silently in her large lemon-verbena scented silk handkerchief. A few days after Will Greentree bade them “good-by” the old couple were installed for the summer season in their comfortable country house, Greentree Cottage. And to Greentree Cottage came, before they had been there a week, this note from one of their oldest and most intimate friends: New York, June 20,1882. My Dear Tamasin and Philander—You told me, you will remember, just as you were leaving the ciry, that you would like to receive into your home this summer some young girl—the more friendless the better for j'our purpose —with a view, should sue prove lovable aud entertaining, to adopting her. Strange as it may appear, you had not been gone more than two hours when I met a young girl who I think will suit you to a charm. She is pretty, of cheerful disposition, tolerably well educated, and naturally very clever; is an orphan and (her grandmother and only relative, with whom she lived, having died three weeks ago) homeless. I have Hpokon to her about your wish, and Hhe is perfectly willing—nay, anxious—to come to you. Aud T am sure her oompaniouship will add to your happiness, and help you to forget the disobedience of your self-willed nephew. Anyhow, receive her as a summer guest ror my sake, for I loved and lost her mother; that is, she married the other chap. Faithfully yours, J AMES TOWNLY. Mr. Green tree’s face brightened as he read this note. “There, my dear,” he said, handing it to his wife, “Townlv—he always was the best and most reliable old chum a fellow ever had—has already found our daughter. For this girl will certainly please us, being heartily approved of by him. Pretty, clever, and cheerful.” “Yes, so he says.” said his wife: “but he needn’t have called poor William bad names, for all that. And I won’t give her the boy’s room. There’s so many trousers and boots and base ball and fishing things in it, that couldn’t be of the slightest use to her, and would only be in her way.” “Do as you like about that, my’ dear,” rejoined Mr. Greentree, who, to tell the truth, was secretly pining for the discarded one, and anxious to have some young life in the cottage; “but see that the room she is to have is got ready immediately, for I shall telegraph to Townly to send her at once.” And he did. And the result of the telegram was that the very next morning Miss Zerelda Ardemann made her best courtesy to ttie old lady and gentleman who wanted a daughter. And never wore any elderly people so quickly and entirely bewitched by any fair maiden as were Philander and Tamasin Greentree by this same violet-eyed, goldenhaired, sweet-voiced, pretty Zerelda Ardemann. And as day followed day, and week followed week, she became more aud more dear to them. She went through the house from morn until eve. warbling like a bird, and when evening came she sat at the ohl-fash-ioned piano and sang the quaint old English ballads that Tutuasin used to sing in her youth, while Philander, brave in swallowtailed, brass-buttoned blue coat, turned the pages of the music with gentle hand. She

THE INDIANAPOLIS JOURNAL, SATURDAY, AUGUST 25, 1883.

tripped lightly over field and meadow every day, and culled the loveliest of wild flowers, which with a grace that was her own she arranged in rases and shells,and whatever she could find to hold them, until each room looked like* fairy bower. And many a beautiful poem she repeated with rare skill in the gloaming, bringing the happy tears to the eyes of her delighted listeners. “Ah! if Will had only made her his choice!” tbe old lady would .say to her husband at least a dozen times a day. “By heavens! if he had,” that impulsive individual would reply, “he wouldn’t have waited long for my blessing.” The summer passed pleasantly, very pleasantly, away, and the advent of autumn found Mr. and Airs. Greentree more in love than ever, if that were possible with their charming guest. “And do you think you would love us enough to call us father and mother, and to promise that when you give your whole heart to someone else you will not forsake us?” asked Mrs. Greentree of Zerelda one sunny September day. “I know I could—l know I do,” answered the girl, emphatically. “But I have a confession to muke to you that I fear will turn you from me.” “My dear, it must be something very terrible to do that. But make it at once, and have it over. Philander! Philander! Zerelda has something to tell us which she fears will make us love her less. Please come and hear it.” Philander dropped the newspaper he was reading on the porch, and stepped into the dining-room through the open window. Zerelda stood in the center of the room with drooping head, blit as soon as he entered she tossed buck the little ringlets that tried to shade the brightness of her eyes, placed her two little bauds in the lace-trimmed pockets of her dainty apron, danced lightly across to where the old couple were now seated side by side, and said, in a voice fraught with innocent cheeriness. “After all, what I have to tell isn’t so very bad. I have amused you both since I came here, haven’t I? And I can go awav at once if you wish me to go.” And then, dropping gracefully on one knee, and folding her hands in pretty entreaty, she said: “Please, sir, and please, ma’am. I am an actress, and my stage name is Eva Fieldbrook. But all that your friend Mr. Townly told yon about me is true.” ! “Aii actress!” exclaimed Mr. Philander Greentree. “Eva Fieldbrook!” said his wife. “Then you are the girl that Will—” began the old man. “That Will—” repeated tbe old lady. “That Will—The same,” replied Zerelda, demurely, still kneeling. “Please forgive me for being that girl.” But Mr. Greentree, without another word, bounced from l:is chair and tore out of the room. Zerelda sprang to her feet. “I’d better begin Ducking at once.” she said, with a sgrious lace. “I’m sorry to have vexed him so much. But indeed it wasn’t my scheme at all. Air. Townly and Will made it up between them. They thought that if you knew me you would—” “And we do,” interrupted the old lady, laying her hand lightly on her arm to detain her. “Don’t you do anything in haste, my dear. You don’t understand Mr. Greentree as well as I do. Sometimes when he seems I most angry he is most pleased. I’m sure he don’t want you to go away.” “Os course he don’t. Who said he did?” asked the old gentleman, entering the room hastily again. I’ve just sent a telegram to Will telling him important business calls him here. There’s another name for you, my dear—important business. Not as pretty as either of the others, but we’ll find a fourth before we get through that w'ill suit you best of all—Zerelda Greentree. How do you like it?” “And I shan’t have grandchildren the least bit strange after all,” said Aunt Tamasin, a bright smile lighting up her dear good old face. A CITIZEN’S DUTY. The Man Who Prepared to Discharge It to the Fullest Extent. Robert J. Burdette. I knew a man once who told me he had been young and was old. I believed him. If he had told me that he had been old ami was young I should have called for the papers on the spot. He said he had voted at every election in our town during the past quarter of a century. In all that time he had never known a man to be elected for whom he voted. It got to be so that his vote was equivalent to a defeat. Sometimes a candidate would pay him $lO to vote for the other man. But his heart always failed him when he got to the polls; be had an abiding faith that his luck was going to turn that year, he couldn’t find it in his heart to vote against his benefactor, and so he would vote for him, and beat him anywhere from ten to five, thousand votes. He flopjied in politics every few years, but he never struck it. lie beat his own side every time. His party, whichever it happened to be, tried to buy him off or ship him out of the country. But he was a true citizen, and he did his duty. He voted every time, with disastrous effect. Last year at the election for councilman there we#e five candidates in his ward, two regulars and three bushwhackers. The man communed with himself. He felt that he couldn’t live forever, and he was bound to vote for one successful man before he died, if it killed him. He went down, and at different times during the day he voted seven times, twice apiece for each of the two regulars, and once for each of the bushwhackers. The fraud was discovered, the election in that ward was thrown out and anew one ordered. The man went to jail, and at the new election anew man came in and beat the five men for whom he had previously repeated clear out of their hoots. The man told me that as soon ae he was out. he was going to run for Congress ami vote for the other man. and so he would either make a spoon or spoil a horn. While I repudiated his methods. I admired the man’s persistent devotion to the duties of citizenship. Young man, vote every time. We have not yet reached a time when there is nobody to vote for. This country may run a little sl*>rt on voters some time, but on candidates, never. The Wants of the Corners. Nasby’s Letter. Wat the Dimocrisy uv the Corners wants is more Dorseys among the Republikins and more Hoadlvs among the Dimokrats. Wat we need is a man wich wants to be Governor wich will cum up like a man, with his pockits full uv money and say to adelegashun: Here, I want to be Governor. I hev ssu,000 about my person, which yoo are welcome to. Durbin Ward wants to be Governor, too. Very good; lie lies the rite to run. But hez he $50,000? How much kin ho pay yoo for voor votes? Nothing? Well, then, wat good" is ho to yoo? Here’s the boodle!” nd then we shood take his $50,000 and nominate him. That simplifies pollytix. That makes the dooty uv the average Dimekrat so eleer that he who runs may reed—the figgers on u bank note. It does the proper thing for everybody, .ledge lloadlv wants to be Governor —lie gits it—we want $lO hills, and we git em. And ez the man wich buys his nominashan in this wav ginerally intends to make it up out uv his oflis, after lie is elected, ther cutns subsequent divvys wich give us a comfortable subsistence and makes things easy all around. Burnett’s Cocoaine Softens tho hair when harsh and diy, Boothes the irritated scalp. Afford* the richest lustre, Prevents the hair from falling off. Promotes its healthy, vigorous growth.

ALL SORTS The last guy of the hoodlums: “Now let yer ears down on your shoulders and rest ’em.” “Our dear brother of the Burlington Gazette,” says an lowa editor, “will permit ns to call him so, since he says we are au ass.” The Concord School of Philosophy has not yet determined how a woman should act when her hands are in the dough pan and an aggressive fly alights on her nose.—Philadelphia Bulletin. “Forever and forever farewell, Cassius. If we do meet again, why we shall smile,” said Brutus, and how pleasaut it is to contemplate that “age does not wither nor custom stale” this delightful habit of “smiling” when friends meet. —Life. In a Newport boudoir: “Oh, he is such a charming gentleman. And he did not make his money in vulgar trade, either. No, indeed! He owns a bank, for 1 have heard people who knew him speak of it. It is in a Western city named Faro.” “I am so glad,” she said soul fully, as she crossed her dainty, slippered feet and glanced down the broad hotel piazzas, conspicuously devoid of men of the eligible order: “I am so glad the Lord knows where the men ore; I am sure no one else does.” A young lady up in Spruce street refused to allow her sister to borrow tlie former’s beau as an escort to a party, saying: “It is not good that the man should be a loan.” She had not been a member of a Bible class for nothing.—Philadelphia Bulletin. A little girl at Palmer, Mass., who had been naughty and was punished by her mother, made the following prayer when she went to bed at night: “Oh, God, please make me good: not real good, but just good enough so 1 won’t have to be whipped.” One of the men who know' it all rather took away Miss Georgia Cay van’s breath in the Luxernberg galiery the other day by explaining to her that a certain picture of Christ and the Magdalen “was our Lord pardoning the adulterated women.” —Grocer’s Journal. The Breeders’ Gazette thinks the “coming cow” will be for both milk and beef. But we think more probably for sugar-corn and cabbage, says the Commercial Gazette. But we think that she will be the one that comes home without anybody going after her. —Sidney Journal. A little boy and girl out in the west end of town were discussing the stars. The little boy said they w r ere worlds like ours and have people on them. The little girl, with all the disdain she could muster, said: “They are not; they angels’ eyes, ’cause I saw them wink.”—Des Moines Leader. The Hoy and the Melon. Ttie melon grew in a sunny clime. Where the air is sweet with the brpnth of thyme; Tho boy saw life by the Northern tide Whore the sea’s wild waves o’er the Maine coast glide. They were buried together—the melon inside. —Boston Advortiser. BEAUTIFUL HEADS OF HAIR. Methods Adopted to Keep Children’s Tresses of a Golden Hue. New York Journal. “How do you keep your littie boy’s hair such a beautiful golden shade?” asked a Journal reporter of a fashionable New York lady. “Why, that is the natural color,” said the lady somewhat indignantly’, as she twined a long golden curl over her finger. “But doesn’t his hair grow darker as he grows older?” asked the reporter. “I have heard that some mothers can keep that bright gold in their children’s hair all the time.” “Yes,” assented the lady, “that is so. I kept the color in my little girl’s hair until she was fifteen, and then she had enough vanity to take care of it herself.” “How did you do it?” asked the reporter. “Her hair was very fine and long when she was six years old, but it began to turn dark, so every other day I washed it in soda and common soap, and when it was dry brushed it thoroughly and then curled it. Once a week I rubbed the scalp with a raw egg.” “Doesn’t washing the hair so much make it dry?” asked the Journalier. “Yes, if you do not brush it thoroughly, and then it is the best thing for it.” “Your children have very beautiful hair,” said the reporter to a lady who sat in her drawing-room, with a half dozen children playing about her. All of them but two had light yellow or golden hair, with bangs and curls. “Yes.” she replied. “Those two little children with short hair are my sister’s. I wouldn’t have a child about me unless it had pretty hair; but my sister thinks differently. Teddie, the boy, insisted on having his hair cut when he was six, and lie had the most beautiful yellow' hair, just like spun silk; and then Flora, the little girl, cried to have her hair cut, to be like Teddie. My sister says it iuake9 a boy more manly to have short hair, but for my part 1 don’t see any necessity of being manly at six.” “How' do you keep your children’s hair so pretty?” “Oh,” she replied, “they have a French bonne who washes their hair in salt water and a little potash and puts it up in curl papers every night. Their hair does not curl naturally, you know.” “Isn’t the salt water injurious to the hair?” “No. I think not, although I have often heard so; but my children have heavy hair, and they have had it washed in salt w’uter ever since they were babies.” A lady living on Fifth avenue has a little girl with large black eyes, and very yellow hair floating over her shoulders to her w’aist. The reporter asked her if she did not possess a very unusual style of beauty. “Oh, no,” she replied; “but 1 bleach her hair. I atu so partial to dark eyes and fair hair, so 1 keep her hair bleached.” “How do you accomplish it?” asked the reporter. ’ I wash it in lemon-juice once a week, and the acid makes it light. My other children have all black hair, and 1 keep it cropped close to their heads, but Ethel is the plainest of all of them, so I thought it was well to give her some special advantage.” “Why don’t you have your boy’s curls cut off this warm weather?” said the Journal reporter to a Brooklyn lady. “Cut off my boy’s beautiful hair!” she exclaimed. “Oh, I wouldn’t do it for sluO cash.” “But they’ll have to come off soon,” said the reporter. “1 know it, and it breaks my heart tef think of it; so don’t mention it to me, please.” An Odd Court lucidaut Dovvu South. Uinttnouga Ti iiip.hu A strange incident occurred at Kingston a few' days since. Judge Rogers convened circuit court and In liis hurry to empanel the grand jury selected thirteen men from the number in the court room. The law requires a small child to draw the names from a box and when Judge Rogers’s mode was discovered on Thursday the entire business of the grand jury was set aside and anew panel was ordered. When the names were drawn from a lot of 200 they were precisely the same as had been chosen by die judge when court first convened. It is a remarkable coincidence. A Woman’s Smile. Sandwich island Paper. Her rich, red lips parted, and there flashed upon the landscape two rows of beautiful white teeth. Slowly her mouth opened wider and wider. Deeper grew the dimples in her bronze cheeks. Brighter danced the sunbeams in her eyes, until a stray ray, darting through the foliage of an overhanging bough, illuminated the deep cavern of her

mouth, bringing into view tbe back of her head. Then, seeing us gaze intently upon her, she shut her jaw and darkness fell upon the scene. TRAIL OF THE DIAMOND NECKLACE. A Suggestive Story of Social Rottenness in the East. Saratoga Letter in Chicago News. Blokes, of New York, is rich. He is worth at least $3,000,000. His father was Van l)u----senbury Blokes. His mother was one of the celebrated Hornpipers. Hornpiper Van Dusenbury Blokes had never married. Having money always he had never mixed in vulgar trade. He has always been in the best of society, and has had no end of gallant adventures with dashing New York married women. When the scandals would become too great, Blokes would go to Europe and remain for a year or two. This has gone on with charming regularitv for forty years. Blokes ! has never made love in any of these years to any one but married wotneu. With plenty j of money, a good figure, a fine tailor, and u flow of animal spirits one can go far in a society where money is worshipped as it is in New York. After a career of nearly forty years of breaking up the domestic hearthstones of his friends. Blokes has arrived at a period of life where it is no longer convenient for him to dash off to Europe to escape an irate husband. lie is sixty years old. He is straight and well preserved. He holds himself well together, and is a living exemplification of the proverb that only the truly wicked prosper. He is very fond of ladies’ society, but as he is changeable he never confines himself long to one. lie lias brought to Saratoga this season two as handsome young married ladies from New York as ever came here. They are accompanied by their husbands—very quiet, modest, retiring fellows. Blokes pays all the expenses of the two families. The husbands live well and have everything that is going, while the ladies are supplied with every luxury in the way of dress. Every morning and evening Blokes parades the porch with his two lady friends, one a blonde, the other a brunette. They go out riding with him. They dine when he does. Tbe husbands appear occasionally. Their presence here at first forbade any talk of scandal, but when tiie wife of the lessee of the house told the dowagers that Blokes was paying the bills ol both families, then the dowagers began to talk. Tiiis talk increased when it was found that Blokes had been traveling about the country with his charming families, and that the complaisant husbands were not always along. But the gossip was only casual and ordinarily pungent until the affair of the diamond necklace. Blokes came into the office of the hotel very drunk. He was in full evening dress, with a light overcoat over his shoulders. A servant stepped forward to brush him oft, as Blokes had evidently sat down on the sidewalk a number of times to recover from the fatigue of advancing years and much rum. When the boy had finished Blokes felt in his waistcoat pocket for a small coin. Iu his clumsy fumbling an enormous diamond necklace was crowded out of the pocket and fell to the floor. Fifteen thousand dollars’ worth of diamonds cannot fall upon the floor of a brilliantly-lighted and thronged hotel office without attracting some attention. A friend of Blokes picked up the necklace and handed it to its owner. He winked as he put it in his pocket, saying: “It is for a dear child of mine.” The next day the brunette of the Blokes combination wore the much-advertised necklace into the dining room It made such a sensation that it quite destroyed the appetite of the dowagers. The necklace has verily broken up the combination. It is understood the blonde w’ill have nothing to do with Blokes until she. too, ha 9 a necklace. Then the husbands are becoming uneasy. They are followed by too many pittying glances. They are called behind their backs the wet-nurses of the “Blokes children.” The actors in this little local sensation are all stopping at the leading hotel of Saratoga, If anything, the facts relating to the Blokes combination have been understated. DAVID DAVIS. A Visit to the Ethereal Statesman of Illiuoi*, with a Hidden Meaning. Robert J. Burdette. In company with Mr. Henry Watterson I made one more political pilgrimage, this time to the beautiful home of Judge David Davis, in Bloomington. 111. I hid been prepared, by Henry’s vivid descriptive powers, for meeting a man of remarkable physique, but I must confess my astonishment, when, in answer to our ring, Mr. Davis himself came creeping through the key-hole to welcome us. “It’s a way I have,” he said, laughing, “when 1 am in too much haste to unlock the door.” The day was too beautiful to desert for the parlors, so we wandered about the "rounds where grow, I think, the most beautiful hedges in Illinois. Under the shade of a tree w’e paused, and as Mr. Davis, motioning Henry and myself to seats on a cast-iron lawn settee, seated himself carelessly on a swaying spray of purple hearted fuchsia, 1 had leisure to observe him. A slender man, only redeemed from emaciation by the perfect symmetry of his limbs and body, with fair, curling hair that drooped about his delicate shoulders like the escaping tendrils of a wayward vine, a faint flush just tinting his boyish cheeks, he produced upon me an impression of ethereal lightness, that I half wondered if the fragile, spirituelle creature before me w’ere really a mortal, or the spirit of the flower which Jie had made his resting place. You could not call him effeminate, for his figure has not even the robust development of a healthy woman. He does not appear weak or in ill health. lie is a visible Ariel, belonging to the realms of the air as much as tlie gaudy butterfly which he left our side to chase, and which moved with a wing scarce less light and noisless than the flying feet of the graceful statesman who pursued him. As we came away, I turned to watch him swiftly climbing a slender, swaying tree to peep into a nest of wrens, far out oti a slender branch, and thinking over our conversation with this effervescent, rippling young creature, I said to my companion: “Henry, I think this is absurd. The people of the United States do not want a boy, a child who chases butterflies and climbs to look into bird’s nests, a boy who walks on his hands and turns summersaults in the parlor for a President.” “Look here.” said Henry, suddenly looking so supernaturallv wise I feared he had a rush of Drains to the head. “Look here, there is a hidden meaning to all this tree climbing and butterfly chasing business, and I am surprised that you newspaper men haven't found it out.” Neats on tlie Low Boughs. John Burroughs. iu September Century. The song birds nearly all build low; their cradle is not upon the tree-top. It is only birds of prey that fear danger from below more than from above, and that seek the higher branches for their nests. A line five feet from the ground would run above more than half the nests, ami one ten feet would bound more than three-fourths of them. It is only the oriole and the wood pewee that, as a rule, go higher than this. The crows and jays and other enemies of the birds have learned to explore this belt pretty thoroughly. But the leaves and the protective coloring of most nests bailie them as effectually no doubt as they do the professional oologist. IVofeHftioual stormy Petrels. St. Lomu Pont-Dispatch. A financial break is a lawyer’s harvest. Mr. G. \V. Heinkkn, Benone F. 0., Pa., lias been entirely cureil of rheumatism by the use of the Great German Remedy, St. Jucobs Oil. Previously lie could find no relief.

THE REVOLVING MILE. Tlie Plan* and KpHulivaiiunii Presented to the Wiir Department by John Phteiilx. Baltimore American. “The last time I was in Washington,” said a veteran army officer to the American correspondent, “those fellows up at the Navy Department were in quite a huff over an effort looking to a change in their uniforms, and there was as great a commotion as tho one that existed during President Pierce’s administration, when they talked of changing the style of uniforms in the army. That event was attended by some-very amu>ing incidents. but the most laughable was tho part taken in it by the late Captain Derby, or John Plnenix, as he was known in journalistic and literary circles. He was a lieutenant at the time and stationed in California. Jeff. Davis, who was Secretary of War, issued a general invitation to officers of the army who were skilful draughtsmen to send in suggestions for ti. new uniform which it had been decided to adopt. One such invitation was sent to eacii officer. Lieutenant Derby was very ready with hi?- pen—a really ingenious artist, It reply he sent to the War Department, not exactly a design for anew uniform, but a peculiar addition to the old uniform, tho amendment consisting merely of a ring attached to the seat of the trousers of each private soldier. Each officer was to carry, instead of a sword, a long pole with a hook in the end, like a shepherd’s cr<ipk. Ttie pole and the ring enabled officers to keep pi;vates from running away in battle. Fugitives could be easily calight by it and brought back; stragglers could be kept in •line. Moreover, tlie ring would be very useful in the cavalry service to fasten soldiers to the saddLe, to prevent them from falling off', and in the artillery service the ring* were to be used for draught purposes in the absence of mules. Tiiese specifications were accompanied by tbe nio.*>fc grotesque pictures, representing officers hauling back cowardly recruits by the serviceable ring, cavalry securely fastened io the tops of their steeds by the same device, and artillerymen harnessed to cannon, drawing them up ttirough narrow defiles or up ati acclivity inaccessible to mules. On another sheet of Bristol-board was an illustration, in gaudy colors, of “Derby’s Rotary Mills Howitzer,” accompanied by a written inscription to this effect: “Upon the back of a young and vigilant mule strap a mountain howitzer, the muzzle pointing toward the tail. A similar piece of ordnance is fastened with iron bands under the animal’s abdomen, the muzzle aimed between his forelegs to the front. There are four gunners—two to each piece—and a “persuader,” as he is called, whoso business it is to persuade the mule to stand firm and not retreat by stuffing him with oats, after each discharge, with a tin sausagostuffer. When Indians or other legitimate game appear in view, the mule is, by a crank movement on the tail, brought to the front. It don’t maks-o any difference which way the mule faces—ami here is where my patent comes in—onci gun is always pointing towards the front. At tlie command ‘Fire!’ the top howitzer i* discharged. The recoil throws the mule on his back, bringing the second gun into position. Tiiis is discharged, which suddenly throws the mule on his feet again, when the gunners swab out the mule’s throat with hay and reload.” The illustrations which accompanied these directions—in brown, red. blue and gold,are still on tile in the War Department—represented tbe rotary mule in seven different attitudes. looking contented and happy all the time. This was felt to be outrageous audacity on the part of a subaltern. The clerks in the War Department laughed at the funny letter immoderately, but their superiors looked serious. Jefferson Davis, the Secretary, was terribly indignant, and he re* solved to defend his wounded dig* nity. Charges and specifications were drawn up against Lieutenant Derby and tho officers were actual named for his courtmartial when William H Marcy, Secretary of State—a man of considerable sense and selfpoise—said to the Secretary of War: “Now, see here, General Davis, don’t you do it. This Derby has undoubtedly a superfluous development of humor, but he is shrewd and ingenious and really u fine draughtsman. lie has valuable qualities. You can organize a court that will convict him, but you will be the butt of ridicule on account of it all your life. Better file the suggestion* of the crook-and-ring and the lively rotarymule and say nothing.” And he did it. Poor Derby subsequently becamaan inmate of au insane asylum ana later died by suicide.” Naughty Turkish Beauties. Constantinople Letter. Tlie government is poor: it is harassed with many weighty questions besides the means of defense against the cholera. Yet it has found time to enter upon a crusade against the fair sex. and it finds the ladies harder to deal with than the Czar himself. During the present vffhntb, when all moslems observe the fast of Ramazan, those who can afford it lie abed through the heat of the day. By night, however, the city is all astir. Froiu 10 o’clock until midnight all the Turkish ladies who can find carriages take their drive through the most fashionable squares. Tho jam in such places is tremendous. One night the chief of police was promenading in search of evils to be cured, and he observed theso great lines of carriages full of ladies passing along under the eyes of tho young men of the city standing on either side of the roadway. And then he saw, to his horror, ladies lean forward and smile at the young men, and even wave handkerchiefs from the carriage window*. He saw handkerchiefs dropped from the carriages, oy accident, and he was morally certain that the young men who politely handed them back to their owners delayed long enough to squeeze the fair hands that received them. All these things were gall and wormwood to the old gentleman. The next day an order was posted through the city prohibiting ladies from driving after nightfall. This, of course, raised a storm which is not yet appeased. It has drawn out the startling and treasonable claim from some of the ladies that they have equal rights and privileges with the men. It is, of course, to be expected that tbe Turkish ladies will win in this matter, in spite of police and the fact that Turkish dictionaries do not admit such a word as flirtation. ‘‘Vein" To Be Followed by tlie l)uche.M of Padua. Interview in New York Mail am! Express. “The critics say there is too much poetry iu the play?” “1 presume they think so. Well, the last act dues pass into poetry and the prose becomes rhythmic. That is in the nature of things. One could not for a moment imagine the balcony scene from ‘Romeo and Juliet’ rendered in prose. Always, passion passes into music at a certain altitude.” “If ‘Vera’ is a success will you write another play to afflict a long-suffering public?” “ ‘Vera* is a sueress,” said Mr. Wilde, smiling blandly. “You ad if 1 will writeanother play, I have one already written. Jc is in my room. Come up and I’ll read it to you.” The reporter excused himself. “Well, I will tell you, then, that I have a five-act drama entitled ‘The Duchess of Padua.’ The period is of tbe fifteenth century. and the scene is laid in Italy. It is in blank verse ami prose mixed. The prose is tbe comedy portions and the blank verse \h the dramatic parts. 1 have not yet offered ir to a manager. Good-bye. 1 shall go to a rehearsal shortly,” said Mr. Wilde, as he starred down Fifth avenue. Many bodily ilis result from habitual onm-N----pat)on, Hint itHka constitution nutv be ItoU.man<l ruined by simple neglect. Tnera is no nmd - cine equal to Aver'* Pills to eorreer i ho c\ il, ni.it remote the organs to natural, healthy, niu i • - 1 ular action.

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